a blank page

I've been keeping a journal (almost) faithfully for about fifteen years now, and nearly every time I start a new book I write some version of the same idea:

"I love a blank page. The crisp, untouched pages smell of possibility. And even though the old books are still around, crammed into their boxes, this one is free from the frustration of bad days, the sadness of loss, the pang of regret. This book of blank pages is just for me. I might fill it with bits of pain or anger or grief, but for now it is blank, waiting...and all I can do is hope for joy instead of sorrow."

And here is another blank page. The smell isn't exactly the same (computers aren't quite the same as books!) but I still have that little tingle of excitement I get when faced with possibility. I may be the only one who ever reads it (who knows?) but I am full of hope for the pages to come.


This actually isn't my first blog, it's my second. Last January my husband and I moved to Germany (when I was 19 weeks pregnant!) and immediately I felt disconnected from friends and family back home. I made phone calls and sent letters (a few emails also, but I'm one of the few Americans still sending handwritten letters through the U.S. Post Office)...but it didn't take long to realize that every conversation and letter started with fifteen minutes or a page of things I told someone else just five minutes or three hours or two days ago. I finally decided to start a blog to share my experiences with pregnancy and explorations of Germany. It was great fun at first, but as soon as the Little Mister arrived people stopped reading what I wrote and just skipped to the pictures. And I wanted to write. It was Painted Maypole who unknowingly convinced me to give this a shot, with her fun Monday Missions (currently hosted by The Flying Mum) that would have been so out of place on my blog. So...here we go.

Flying on dragonfly wings.